, 


CHORDS 

FROM  ALBIREO 


TV.  _ 


\ 


CHORDS 
FROM  ALBIREO 

BY  DANFORD  BARNEY 

(Al'THOK    OK    "DrST    OF    STARS*') 


WlTH    A    FOKKWORD    BY 

LAWRENCE  MASON,  PH.D. 

(Yale  University) 


"  That  every  quest  is  but  a  coming  home." 

— Hooker 


NEW  YORK  :  JOHN  LANE  COMPANY 
LONDON  :  JOHN  LANE,  THE  BODLEY  HEAD 
MCMXX 


COPYRIGHT,  1920 
BY  JOHN  LANE  COMI-ANY 


TO 

LAURA  DUNHAM  BARNEY, 

MY  MOTHER— 

FOR  WHAT  SHE  HAS  DONE, 

FOR  WHAT  I  HAVE  NOT  DONE, 

THIS  BRIEF  VOLUME 

IS  DEDICATED 


Thanks  are  herewith  given  to  the  following  for  permission 
to  reprint  certain  poems  that  have  already  appeared  within 
their  pages  : 

The  London   Sphere 

The  English  Poetry  Review 

The  Lyric 

Good  Housekeeping 

The  Poetry  Journal 

Serittur's  Magazine 

The   Yale  University  Press 

Harper  S*  Brothers 


It  is  a  familiar  truism  that  any  educated  man  or  woman  who 
cares  to  make  the  effort  can  write  verses  that  scan  and  rhyme 
correctly,  for  this  is  simply  a  matter  of  rational  intelligence 
applied  to  the  operation  of  a  set  of  rules.  In  a  day  when  this 
truism  has  been  deplorably  abused  by  so  many  persons,  it  is 
refreshing  to  turn  to  a  writer  whose  natural  poetic  idiom  can 
not  possibly  be  mistaken  for  the  machine-made  product  of  the 
mere  intelligent  will-to-versify.  Not  that  Mr.  Barney's  every 
utterance  is  quintessential  poesy,  necessarily:  but  it  is,  for 
better  or  for  worse,  the  utterance  of  a  poet,  rather  than  that 
of  the  ordinary  educated  citizen  of  the  world.  I,  at  any  rate, 
in  recording  this  as  my  opinion,  believe  that  it  will  be  shared 
by  most  discerning  readers,  and  now  proceed  to  ask  of  those 
who  do  not  share  it  a  fair  consideration  of  the  following 
reasons  for  the  faith  that  is  in  me. 

Mr.  Barney's  poetry,  then,  is  frankly  the  poetry  of  feeling, 
impression,  or  intuition,  adumbrated  by  image  and  symbol,  as 
contradistinguished  from  the  poetry  of  the  strictly  intellectual 
processes,  working  as  it  were,  or  at  least  capable  of  being 
worked  out,  by  a  logical  diagram.  It  seeks  to  evoke  moods, 
in  a  series  of  spiritual  moments,  rather  than  to  impart  ideas 
by  a  sequence  of  correlated  propositions,  and  accordingly  often 
employs  the  structureless,  ejaculatory  phrase  of  rhapsody  in 
lieu  of  the  strictly  grammatical  declarative  sentence  of  mun 
dane  intercourse.  It  is  thus  entirely  content  to  appear  inar 
ticulate  to  the  analytical  mind,  if  it  can  but  appeal  by  a  kind 
of  aesthetic  telepathy  to  the  sensitive  poetic  temperament. 
Let  the  sympathetic  reader  accept  these  premises  and  freely 
yield  himself  to  the  vague  exaltation  or  strong  emotion  induced 
by  glowing  imagery  and  noble  diction,  without  endeavoring  too 
rigorously  to  translate  every  line  into  reasoned  prose,  and  he 
will  find  himself  under  the  true  spell  of  enchantment  which 

9 


CHORDS    FROM    ALBIBEO 

authentic  poetry  always  casts  over  its  votaries.  This  method 
of  composition,  therefore,  which  exalts  the  spirit  above  the 
letter,  the  immediate  realization  above  the  mediate  under 
standing,  by  passionately  apprehending  more  than  cool  reason 
ever  comprehends,  seems  to  me  entirely  legitimate  in  the  ab 
stract,  even  though  I  must  candidly  confess  that  my  own 
critical  interest  in  the  theory,  and  my  faith  in  its  validity, 
are  quite  independent  of  my  liking  or  disliking  any  given 
specimen  of  Mr.  Barney's  work,  in  the  concrete. 

Perhaps  the  citation  of  a  few  illustrative  poems  and  pas 
sages  from  this  volume  will  make  clearer  the  particular  quali 
ties  that  I  seek  to  disengage  as  characteristic  of  this  type  of 
poetry.  "Zones,"  "Fantasy,"  "Possessions,"  "Vision,"  and 
some  other  pieces,  of  course,  are  lucid  and  direct  enough  to 
satisfy  the  most  orthodox  canons,  but  these  are  really  excep 
tions  to  the  rule.  A  typical  manifestation  of  this  art  of 
conveying  the  thrill  and  inspiration  of  poetry  by  logically 
inadequate  means  is  "Men  and  Stars":  beauty  and  fervour  and 
vast  philosophical  issues  are  here  hauntingly  suggested,  and 
yet  no  line-by-line  paraphrase  in  normal  speech  is  possible — 
or  requisite — to  me,  at  least.  Similarly  I  find  the  closing  lines 
of  "Their  Yesterday"  and  "Diametrics"  movingly  beautiful, 
in  spite  of  the  fact  that  the  earlier  stanzas  baffle  my  under 
standing.  Almost  every  line  in  "Star"  might  well  drive 
pedestrian  common  sense  into  the  irritated  protest,  "Why? 
What  on  earth  does  this  mean?" — and  still,  to  a  mood  of  poetic 
surrender,  the  poem  as  a  whole  is  very  effective  and  affect 
ing.  Briefer  examples  of  emotional  glamour  defying  rational 
literalism  are  these: 

"Prescience  of  you  far  away, 
Writh  you,  will  be  yesterday." 

"Where  unexpended  sense  shall  quaff 

The  choiring  beauty  of  no  form, 
Or,  from  its  peace,  ride  as  the  chaff 
Giddy  on  pinnacles  of  storm." 

10 


FOREWORD 

"As  if  the  'scutcheon  of  Christ's  votarist 
Were  worth  the  pride  of  him  who  caused  the  blot." 

But  it  is  unnecessary  to  multiply  quotations  when  almost  every 
page  affords  instances,  and  I  cannot  hope  to  render  my  con 
ception  of  this  special  phase  of  poetics  either  more  intelligible 
to  the  reader  or  more  acceptable,  without  unduly  expanding 
this  preface.  One  point  further,  however,  should  be  made  in 
fairness  to  Mr.  Barney,  lest,  by  withholding  quotation,  I 
should  seem  to  imply  that  there  are  no  good  lines  of  the  more 
conventional  sort  in  his  work,  whereas  in  reality  effects  like  the 
following  are  by  no  means  infrequent: 

"When  lips  unto  my  lips  that  press 
Shall  stir  no  sense  but  holiness." 

"Where  the  wind  moved  as  rain,  mysteriously." 
"The  stars  were  flung  as  dust  in  the  tree-tops." 

Or  this  fine  rebuke  to  the  despair  born  of  disillusionment: 

"Because  you  dreamed  you  held  the  best  God  gave, 
Think  you  God  died  the  moment  you  awoke  ?" 

The  present  collection  includes  the  work  that  Mr.  Barney 
has  done  since  the  publication  of  his  first  volume,  in  Novem 
ber,  1916,  and  hence  covers  the  varied  periods  before  his  en 
listment,  during  his  service  in  France,  and  since  his  return  and 
discharge.  Though  there  is  consequently  a  considerable  diver 
sity  in  his  subject-matter,  yet  the  predominance  of  a  few  lead 
ing  motives  or  fundamental  convictions  is  noteworthy :  we  find 
everywhere  an  ardent  affirmation  of  the  supreme  value  and 
eternal  sanctity  of  Beauty,  Innocence,  and  Aspiration — all  in 
carnate  or  emblemed,  apparently,  in  One  delicately  veiled 
Innominata  who  is  repeatedly  hymned  in  a  white  passion  of 
chivalrous  worship.  That  Mr.  Barney  does  not  always  rise  to 
the  height  of  these  great  arguments  would  be  easy  to  show  by 
pointing  out  flaws :  but  this  is  only  to  say  that  his  method  of 

11 


CHORDS    FROM    ALBIREO 

composition,  like  everything  else  in  this  finite  world,  suffers 
from  the  unavoidable  defects  of  its  qualities.  On  the  whole, 
in  closing,  I  can  but  repeat  that  the  collection  seems  to  me  to 
comprise  a  number  of  admirable  illustrations  of  an  exceedingly 
interesting  poetic  theory. 

LAWRENCE  MASON. 
Yale  University, 
October,  1919. 


12 


CONTENTS 

FOREWORD 9 

1917— 

A  WOMAN  PASSING   17 

HILL  FEVER   21 

THE  EVERLASTING  MIRACLE 23 

CONFESSION     26 

BEAUTY   27 

THE  DEAD  TO  WAKE    29 

How  GLAD  TO  KNOW   30 

WOMAN'S   SONG    31 

DIAMETRICS 32 

MASSES 34 

FRANCE- 
MEN  AND  STARS 37 

THE  MAJOR  PARADOX   38 

ON  A  ROSE   41 

BLESSE 42 

VESTAL    44 

IN  His  NAME 45 

IMMORTALITY    48 

COMRADES    49 

ZONES    51 

BY  A  TUSCAN  RUIN 52 

HUMOR    53 

Music    55 

THEIR  YESTERDAY    57 

FINALE    59 

1919— 

DOLORES  I    63 

II     64 

PHILANDERER    65 

13 


CONTENTS 

FORGOTTEN    LOVER    67 

FAITH    68 

FANTASY    69 

UPON  THE  PIPER 70 

GENERATIONS    72 

LITTLE   FEET    74 

BREATH 76 

BY  THE  SEA— 

BEATA  DIE   79 

MINOR  DOMINANTS   84 

STAR    87 

VISION   88 

POSSESSION    89 

TRINITY    90 

NE 92 

PLUS    93 

ULTRA   94 

DESTINY    95 

TOKEN    96 

SONG  OF  SONGS 97 

LILIES  RED 98 

To  W.  R.  W.  100 


14 


1917 


A  WOMAN  PASSING 

Lover  of  winds!     A  little  while  ago 

You  sang  in  glamourie  across  the  fields 

Down  the  old  road  that  still  leads  to  a  stream, 

Casual  in  its  dreamland  flow  beneath 

The  over-arch  of  trees;   or  did  you  run 

Drunken  in  splendour  by  the  constant  waves, 

Breaking  their  white  hearts  on  the  singing  sands? 

And  one  day  all  the  holiness  of  earth 

Crept  into  you,  when  through  the  forest  blue, 

Quiet  in  passion  as  cathedral  nave, 

You  stole  in  other  mood  of  nearer  dreams 

Over  the  printless  mould  until  the  light 

Of  heaven  led  you  to  a  meadow  slope 

Where  you  had  kissed  twin  flowers  by  a  stone. 

Ah,  none  was  there  to  make  it  consecrate, 

The  yearning  wind,  this  power  of  love  to  crave, 

To  say  that  wind  and  sea  form  but  a  thread 

Of  song  to  hide  the  dream  of  dearer  hours. 

Till,  in  the  fantasy  of  your  un worth, 

Your  want  of  wisdom  in  the  things  God  gave 

To  hold  the  strength  of  winds  in  governance, 

A  jester  came,  acquainted  of  the  world, 

To  set  your  heart's  austerities  at  play, 

Like  as  a  demon  bee  may  seek  the  heart 

Of  the  wild  flower  to  drain  the  living  sweet, 

Leaving  in  recompense  its  deathless  sting. 

For  him  you  gave  the  star  of  womanhood, 

Bore,  in  his  image,  these  beloved  twain, 

17 


CHORDS    FROM    ALBIREO 

Twin  flowers  such  as  you  had  kissed  before, 
Sprung  from  the  dust  of  Beauty's  lustral  shard, 
Broken,  you  say,  in  God's  own  spendthrift  hand. 

Lover  of  wine;  luxuriant  of  earth! 
Is  it  the  song  of  wind  and  rain  has  ceased, 
Or,  has  the  breaking  of  a  dream  made  dark 
The  wonder  that  you  ran  unheeding  towards! 
Because  you  dreamed  you  held  the  best  God  gave, 
Think  you  God  died  the  moment  you  awoke? 
Christ  still  is  Christ,  however  Beauty  fail, 
Love  ever  blind,  so  Beauty  yearn  to  see. 
And  all  the  ecstasy  of  things  achieved. 
Through  our  unuttered  sacrifice  of  pride, 
Lives  in  the  singing  eyes,  the  clean,  warm  lips 
Of  God's  redeemed,  and  those  who  first  did  win. 
Another  came  to  you  more  sanctified, 
With  prescience  of  the  worship  you  once  held, 
Not  swift  to  judge  the  swiftness  of  desire, 
But  hallowed  in  redemption;   not  to  preach, 
Nor  pray,  yet  kindly  comrade  in  your  dreams 
That  were  and  are  and  shall  be,  when  you  know. 
He  came  in  raptured  song  upon  the  shard, 
Taking  the  broken  facets  in  his  hand 
To  mould  again  in  all  their  holiness. 
What  if  the  shell  be  broken,  still  the  pearl, 
The  rondured  vial  of  life's  wrine,  is  found 
By  many  a  fisher  on  the  singing  sands 
To  set  within  some  coronet  anew. 
And  still  you  say  this  clay  is  all  in  all, 
Beauty  so  frail  that  pride  is  its  defense, 

18 


A   WOMAN    PASSING 

As  if  the  'scutcheon  of  Christ's  votarist 
Were  worth  the  pride  of  him  who  caused  the  blot. 
Unwitting  that  the  sacred  flame,  once  known, 
Is  still  alight,  hanging  full-orbed  above, 
Shall  you  believe  this  draught  of  earthen  cups 
One  with  the  clear  wine  youth  once  sipped  in  fire? 
Or,  shall  these  flowers  know  the  stain  you  leave, 
Labor  in  doubt  of  Beauty  ill  redeemed, 
Untaught  of  hope  because  the  soul  was  weak, 
So  give  their  honey  for  a  fool's  desire? 

Lover  of  God,  blind  to  the  love  he  bore ! 
Perhaps  some  dawn  shall  make  this  night's  desire 
A  mockery  of  what  you  deem  it  is ; 
Bringing  the  wild  wind  laden  with  new  song 
To  sweep,  as  autumn  leaves  across  the  snow, 
Old  fantasies  of  darker  yesterday 
Into  oblivion,  till  the  broken  shard 
Must  gleam  again  in  re-awakened  fire, 
Quick  with  the  wine  of  his  translucent  cup, 
Who  stoops  to  claim  his  resurrected  own. 
Perhaps,  beyond  the  hope  of  tired  sense 
And  all  the  weary  longing  in  men's  hearts, 
Another  song  of  winds,  and  sound  of  waves, 
Breaking  their  white  hearts  on  the  singing  sands, 
Shall  steal  adown  remembered  years  to  stir 
Light  in  those  dim,  grey  eyes,  and  warmth  of  blood 
Upon  the  passionate  lips  to  cry  again 
Lost  verses  from  the  treasury  of  time. 
So  may  the  heart  uplift  itself  in  song 
Of  awes  and  adorations,  clearly  sweet, 

19 


CHORDS    FROM    ALBIREO 

Cleansed  in  the  sacrament  of  bleeding-  hours, 
Star-strong  against  the  little  voice  of  fear; 
And  life,  as  once  you  knew  it,  gleam  again 
Once  in  another's  eyes  before  you  pass, 
Out  of  the  dim  and  depth  of  our  grey  streets, 
A  naked  pilgrim,  through  the  even-song, 
Leaving  these  flowers  wistful  to  the  world, 
Sentient  in  that  wonder  you  possessed, 
Companion  blossoms  by  the  dusty  road, 
Closing  their  crimson  petals  day  by  day. 
Perhaps  some  new  decade  shall  see  a  heart 
Enter  the  stillness  of  their  wonted  doubt 
To  catch  them  in  the  balance  ere  they  dream 
Of  all  that  is,  and  think  what  is  is  just; 
A  heart  that  found  its  courage  in  denial, 
Knowing  the  difficult  pain  the  greater  joy; 
And  such  a  heart  may  yet  retain  a  song. 
The  lingering  smile  of  children's  questioning, 
Happy  in  dreams  before  earth's  hunger  came, 
Ere  they  forget,  and  laugh,  and  be  forgot. 


20 


HILL  FEVER 

(From  a  mining  hospital  Southwest') 

That  door  so  white 

Below  the  invisible  light! 

I  might  have  knelt, 

Beating  winged  hands  against  the  immaculate  gate 

Of  Heaven's  vaulted  dreams, 

Crying  to  lyric  singers  far  within ; 

"I  come,  absolved  of  sin, 

Players  of  God. 

Let  me  but  cast  the  raiment  from  this  mould, 

I  that  have  seen  and  felt 

The  shadow  rose 

Fold,  to  unclose 

In  fragrant  ecstasy  insufferable, 

Through  bitter  moons  untold! 

Ah,  cover  me  from  the  holy  face  that  gleams 

Down  the  long,  naked  path  of  my  unrest; 

Only  this  last  behest, 

Saviour,  fling  wide,  unless — ".     Ah,  God,  too  late! 

Heaven,  these  walls  still  creep 

In  fearful  vigil  close  as  a  prison  keep. 

Look  where  an  ant-like  figure  climbs  the  trail, 

Across  that  canyon  stark, 

Unwitting  that  this  mind 

Lifts  him  from  humankind. 

21 


CHORDS    FROM    ALBIREO 

Old  time  immutable 

Flings  on  these  hills  that  nod 

Impersonate  of  God 

The  vasty,  hollow  silence  of  the  dark. 

Strange  little  seed  of  things 

To  keep  these  fevered  eyes  upon  their  Grail! 

Quickening  miracle  of  dulled  nerves  that  flings 

A  wonder  iridescence  on  her  hair ! 

From  age  to  age, 

Saviour,  thy  little  wage, 

Lifts  us  subliminal, 

And  all 

The  wants  of  heart  and  mind  that  with  us  cleave, 

Too  mortal  to  confess, 

Die  silent  with  the  fragile  lips'  impress 

Upon  the  hand  that  led  with  holy  care, 

When  twilight  set  the  western  torch  at  eve ! 


22 


THE  EVERLASTING  MIRACLE 

Think  ye  this  great  Madonna  ye  adore 
Knew  not  fulfilment  in  that  utter  sense 
Which  can  alone  crown  the  immortal  mind 
Or  sanctify  the  earth's  eternal  fire? 
By  chance,  some  saint  set  tinsel  on  the  star 
That  led  those  ancient  prophets  weary  wise 
Unto  the  garden  where  God's  flower  bloomed? 
Against  the  poor  inheritance  of  minds 
That  made  tradition  waver  down  these  years, 
Shall  we  declare  this  one  eternal  law, 
Our  lasting  miracle  of  major  worth, 
Exampled  in  the  thread  of  all  that  lives, 
Flowers  and  ferns,  in  bird  and  beast,  as  man, 
Broken  in  one  lone  instance  to  defy 
The  Maker's  first  intention:   or,  was  God 
Tricked  in  the  dark  of  fancy  for  our  creeds? 
Lo,  lo,  poor  mummers  in  your  convent  minds, 
Will  ye  not  sense  the  anguish  of  a  world 
That  lingers  yet  till  some  predominant  soul 
Shall  prostitute  his  weakness  to  be  strong, 
Forging  God's  worth  anew  in  vaster  truth 
Than  eyes  have  witnessed ;  for  the  single  light 
Of  consecration  burns  subliminal 
Beyond  these  weakly  candles  of  our  shrine! 
Aye,  some  must  cast  these  shards  of  travesty 
Into  the  grim  of  Hell,  and  clear  their  hearts 
To  walk  the  hills  where  many  Christs  have  died. 

23 


CHORDS    FROM    ALBIREO 

And  each  shall  have  a  star  above  his  head, 

One  miracle  of  hope  beyond  all  pain 

Or  sorrow  to  diminish,  one  sweet  source 

Wherein  the  lights  and  shadows,  tears  and  songs, 

Attuned  to  his  by  some  predestined  will 

Above  all  others,  holier  than  prayer, 

Unger  and  brighten,  deepen  in  splendor  there, 

As  chaliced  wine  in  some  deep  treasury 

Heightens  in  rapture,  craving  diviner  taste. 

Or,  shall  one  pluck  an  acorn  from  its  branch, 

Grasping  the  bitter  fruit  of  cowardice, 

If  he  has  seen  the  apple  blossoms  sway 

In  all  their  hallowed  vesture,  or  has  felt 

Prescience  of  birth  and  life  more  sanctified 

With  fragrance  petal-borne  down  hills  of  Spring? 

Nay;  time  will  come  when  every  saint  shall  bear 

The  gift  of  sense  perfected  in  the  thirst 

Of  clear  fulfilment,  hear,  and  see,  and  touch, 

Until  delight  of  graver  ecstasies 

Garner  the  immortalities  of  earth. 

So,  harmony  of  many  instruments 

In  poignant  overture  must  raise  the  thought 

In  universal  theme  beyond  the  sense 

Of  this  our  every  day,  until  the  years 

Spin  to  the  heaven's  planetary  tune, 

Beyond  the  casual  dreamer's  power  to  hold 

The  greater  vision  in  his  common  life. 

So  parchments  are  with  ink  invisible, 

Unseen  because  thereon  are  words  unlike 

The  usual  barter  of  our  daily  tongues, 

Dreams  far  beyond  the  covenants  of  fools, 

24 


EVERLASTING    MIRACLE 

The  inarticulate  sessions  of  lone  minds ; 
Only  upon  the  endeavored  ways  of  light, 
Some  luminary  star  may  sink  deep,  deep, 
Within  the  watchful  precincts,  lingering  on 
The  dying  parchment,  and  the  words  leap  up 
In  warmth  of  rapture  to  some  full-voiced  song, 
Sweeter  than  sorrow,  assured  in  holiness. 
Even  has  beauty  been  arrayed  in  pain 
Ere  the  white  rose  turned  crimson  in  the  night. 
Behold  that  face  still  looms  a  shadowy  form, 
Those  singing  lips  yet  lift  their  faithful  song, 
As  minor  dominant  of  men's  dying  dream, 
And  major  resurrection! 


25 


CONFESSION 

Must  I  lay  bare  the  fallacy  of  lips 

That  cry  me  down  the  night  and  day  to  haunt 

My  ears  with  idle  condemnation  thus: 

"Behold  this  dreamer  prostitutes  his  creed, 

"That  claims  whereof  is  beauty  there  is  strength, 

"And  here  his  spirit  wanes  for  want  of  flesh !" 

Ah,  little  worshippers  of  common  sense, 

Unwitting  the  extraordinary  height 

Of  souls  forever  mutual  in  this  clay, 

Sense  unto  sense  till  all  divinity 

Distils  the  earth's  fulfilment.     Only  here, 

Within  this  kingdom  where  affections  rule, 

Shall  minds  gleam  forth  incarnate  with  the  wine 

Of  holy  chalice  whence  two  hearts  have  sipped. 

Dear  Heart,  I  leave  the  morning  of  your  face 

To  meet  the  stalwart  thoughts  of  men  beyond, 

To  consecrate  all  Beauty  in  the  acts 

Of  humble  striving  and  the  gloried  play 

Of  multitudes  along  their  myriad  paths, 

Lauding  the  strong,  setting  the  weak  with  power, 

For  I  am  you,  and  you  go  forth  in  me, 

Each  in  his  own  fit  manner  till  the  war 

Of  each  long  day  must  end  in  weary  peace. 

Then  to  the  chalice  of  the  moil's  spent  wine, 

The  resurrection  of  expended  hours, 

I  shall  return  to  fill  the  cup  again, 

To  sleep  within  the  twilight  of  your  eyes. 

26 


BEAUTY 

Strangely  that  face  must  haunt  me  as  a  star ! 
Ah,  Bride  who  sought  in  pain  your  master  Love, 
Beauty,  I  know  you  as  you  were  and  are 
And  will  be  when  this  pulse  has  ceased  to  move. 

You  that  first  stirred  Love's  seedling  in  the  womb 
Mould  us  to  die;  your  prescience  that  each  sips 
Lives  in  the  flower  still-born  upon  the  tomb 
To  draw  your  quickened  song  from  redder  lips. 

The  coming  man  grows  gradual  in  your  power, 
That  once  revealed  in  aftermath  of  pain ; 
One  torch  of  hope  to  light  each  barren  hour, 
Our  dreams  forgone  for  what  wre  can  attain. 

You  the  Eternal;  and  we  but  quest  in  brief; 
Find  you  in  color,  form,  familiar  songs. 
Our  little  faith  makes  melody  of  grief, 
Craving  in  you  what  least  to  each  belongs. 

Somewhere,  to-day,  the  little  cloud  slips  drift 
Flaming  adown  the  twilight  stream  of  rest. 
One  line  of  blue  amid  the  white  makes  rift, 
As  delicate  vein  across  a  mother's  breast. 

27 


CHOKDS    FROM    ALBIREO 

Here,  in  the  moil  yon  gothic  symbol  stands 
Protest  against  the  day's  more  gross  desire, 
Reaching  in  prayer  of  many  labored  hands 
The  spirit  finger  of  its  dark  limned  spire. 

The  gamin's  song  along  the  dirty  street 
Wakens  atremble  down  the  city  night, 
Against  the  least  dim  sounds  of  weary  feet,- 
The  finite  yearning  towards  the  infinite. 


28 


THE  DEAD  TO  WAKE 

It  Avere  not  easy  for  the  dead  to  wake, 
Or  that  we  dream  such  dreams  as  never  break; 
Yet  Beauty  steals  upon  our  vestured  sleep 
In  sweet  surrender  for  another's  sake. 

It  were  not  easy  for  the  dead  to  rise, 

Or  that  the  Lowlands  hear  the  Mountain  cries ; 

Yet  Beauty  walks  immortal  in  desire, 

To  crown  the  shadows  after  sunset  dies. 


Children  pass  on  with  unillumined  eyes, 
As  twilight  flowers  close  their  lips  with  sighs ; 
Or  some  hand  plucks  one  from  its  barren  field, 
In  resurrection  infinitely  wise. 

The  warp  of  sorrow  in  the  threads  of  rain 
Binds  the  night  loom,  till  in  and  out  again 
Swift  Beauty's  shuttle  cleaves  the  web  of  doubt, 
Weaving  the  dawn  exquisite  in  its  pain. 


29 


HOW  GLAD  TO  KNOW 

How  glad  to  know  that  such  as  you  may  rise 
Beyond  the  near  horizon  of  young  dream, 
Stealing  into  one's  heart  as  radiant  gleam 
Of  kindly  star  through  children's  paradise ! 

So,  in  the  bondage  of  men's  idle  wrong 

The  caged  bird  does  not  stir, 

Until,  amid  the  shadows  of  its  doubt, 

Prescience  of  understanding  from  without, 

And  some  wise  comforter 

Gathers  the  little  courage  of  its  song. 

So,  April  steals  among  the  silent  trees 

Under  the  sleep  of  Winter  days 

Seeking  the  intimate  heart  of  springs 

Whereat  she  sets  her  lips  upon 

The  frozen  surface,  and  their  new  warmth  frees 

The  inner  life  and  miracle  of  things, 

In  deep  reflection,  as  it  bubbles  on 

Its  singing  ways. 

How  glad  to  know 

That  in  this  consecrated  place, 

Happy  for  its  release, 

Howe'er  the  many  streams  may  flow, 

Howe'er  you  wander  for  a  little  space 

Over  the  field  and  hill, 

This  spring  shall  babble  on  and  will, 

In  sunlight  or  in  rain 

Should  you  return  again, 

Be  singing  still 

In  consecrated  peace! 

30 


WOMAN'S  SONG 

If  we  give  thanks  for  any  gain  of  war, 

Let  mine  be  only  this, 
Throughout  the  cloud  there  shone  one  instant  star, 

All  that  is  mine  was  for  a  moment  his. 

If  thanks  be  meet,  let  this  fulfil  my  prayer, 

One  gleam  of  old  lang  syne, 
That  joy  of  earth  and  sea,  the  light  and  air, 

Distilled  in  him  were  for  a  moment  mine. 

Now  though  he  walk  elsewhere  nor  come  again, 

My  way  is  ever  ours ; 
He  shall  be  mine,  unwitting,  and  my  pain 

Shadow  new  revelation  of  his  powers. 


31 


DIAMETRICS 

Only,  hcyond  this  night 
Purple  hours  of  pain 
Steep  in  the  mad  unrest; 
All  that  I  gave,  to  earn 
Your  soul,  must  needs  return 
Sweet  with  the  unpossessed, 
Tremhle  and  rise  again, 
Blinding  the  dawn  in  light. 

Once  we  were  one  and  one, 
Leaves  that  had  flown  astray 
Through  hours  of  lingering  sweet ; 
Minims  of  humankind, 
Blown  before  gorgeous  wind, 
Separate  only  to  meet 
Somewhere  to  dance  and  play, 
Children  beneath  the  sun. 

Isles  of  the  changing  light; 
Shadows  that  creep  the  hill; 
Sharp  trees  against  the  sky; 
Seas  on  a  broken  shore 
Haunting  you  evermore 
Follow  your  path,  and  I 
Scatter  my  dreams,  and  still 
Garner  the  facets  bright. 

32 


DIAMETRICS 

Life  was  your  sacrament, 
Faith  in  a  world  unwise, 
Joy,  not  knowing  why. 
Yet  through  the  wind  and  rain 
You  shall  return  again, 
Seeking  inconstantly 
Rest  for  your  tired  eyes, 
Peace  and  a  strange  content. 

All  that  is  touched  and  seen, 
Beauty  of  all  possessed, 
Keep  you  in  ecstasy, 
Howe'er  we  ever  meet 
Smiling,  to  pass  and  greet, 
Something  eternally 
Out  of  the  endless  quest 
Runs  ever  dark  between. 

E'en  though  the  gods  of  old, 
Dreams  of  their  vestal  fire, 
Lead  you  to  still  your  pain ; 
Out  of  your  world  absorbed, 
Into  my  world,  full-orbed 
Your  face  shall  gleam  again ; 
Memory  shall  make  desire 
All  that  the  heart  can  hold. 


33 


MASSES 

Over  the  silences  of  time, 

Beating  incessantly  on  every  hand 

These  soundless  voices,  crying  thus, 

As  the  far  drone  of  many  bees 

Or  ebb  and  flow  of  many  peopled  seas 

Weaving  their  sleepless  ire, 

Would  seem  to  storm  the  last  redoubt  of  thought 

As  if  they  sought 

To  quench  our  one  eternal  fire, 

Crying,  "Come  down  to  us; 

Or  tell  us  this  we  may  not  understand!" 

Over  the  silences  of  time. 


FRANCE 


MEN  AND  STARS 

It's  all  a  master  symphony,  a  glad  sad  song 

Of  sunshine  and  sorrow  as  footsteps  march  along 

Adown  the  ways  of  magic 

Through  happy  and  the  tragic 
Sorrow-laden  hours  of  God's  eternal  plan; 

We  that  are  but  shadows 

Across  the  litten  meadows, 
As  flowers,  bloom  to  vanish  beyond  the  endless  span. 

It's  all  a  master  symphony,  and  every  act  or  dream 
Only  a  minor  dominant  within  the  major  theme. 

Faith  in  every  sorrow 

Gleams  of  a  tomorrow, 
Light  that  shadows  borrow  from  cradle  to  the  tomb ; 

Gain  in  each  achieving, 

Loss  beyond  retrieving, 
Are  one  within  the  weaving  upon  a  greater  loom. 

It's  all  a  martial  symphony ;  each  marching  to  his  war 
Passes  in  transcendent  gleam  of  his  o'erarching  star, 

Throughout  the  greater  yearning 

Within  our  orbits  turning, 

Still  as  the  stars  are  burning  beyond  where  planets 
roam. 

Divine,  our  deep  desire 

Flames  in  the  tongueless  choir, 
The  everlasting  regiments  forever  coming  home. 


37 


THE  MAJOR  PARADOX 

(France:    1917-1919} 

We  have  claimed  one  God,  but  to  worship  makers 

and  masters  of  men; 

Taken  of  one  Communion,  proven  the  dual  mind. 
We  have  tuned  our  harp  of  sorrow;    suffered  to 

laugh  again; 
We  have  reckoned  a  nation's  honor  in  barter  of 

mankind. 

Where  is  the  forfeit  levied,  whose  is  the  bargain 

won, 
When  saints  are  given  for  dust,  hearts  for  a  penny 

sold? 
I  have  seen  a  mother  sorrow  for  one  of  her  breeding 

gone; 
Yet  we  send  our  sons  in  prowess  to  mimic  the 

Christ  of  old! 

We,  who  claim  God  in  common,  shall  we  be  fools  at 

best, 
When  two  strong  men  in  common  seek  that  the 

other  die? 

Oh,  all  ye  that  are  weary,  will  ye  give  all  for  rest, 
Say  that  belief  is  a  shadow,  Christ  but  a  living  lie? 

Fear,  that  had  made  us  holy,  has  broken  our  faith 
at  last. 

38 


Whose  in  the  world's  affliction  to  sever  the  right 

from  wrong? 
We  have  scattered  the  broken  bread,  spreading  the 

red  repast, 
Singing  each  of  our  sorrow,  and  there  are  no  words 

for  the  song. 

We  have  lifted  the  cup  in  vengeance  to  find  it  a 
bitter  wine ; 

They  that  have  sipped  shall  madden,  drinking  for 
ever  deep, 

Till  the  chosen  shall  be  united  in  dream  of  a 
common  sign, 

In  sleep,  and  a  little  slumber,  and  a  folding  of 
hands  in  sleep. 

We  have  broken  the  lasting  creed,  to  sanction  a 

compromise 
With  Him  who  has  cried,  "I  come  not  to  destroy, 

but  to  fulfil!" 
Yet  whose  is  the  gift  to  sanction;    whose  shall  be 

Paradise, 
That  have  torn  for  their  many  banners  the  raiment 

of  His  will? 

What  is  this  doubt  you  gave  us  to  flame  in  the  eyes 

of  youth, 

We  that  are  God-inspired,  one  in  the  living  breath? 
Bound  in  our  petty  trials,  one  in  the  infinite  Truth, 
Shall  we  sow  sin  in  hatred,  reaping  the  wage  in 

death? 

39 


CHORDS    FROM    ALBIREO 

The  guns  of  the  world  may  storm,  yet  the  sun  must 

rise  again 
Over  the  broken  shards,  throughout  the  hours  of 

grief. 
Others  shall  fill  the  ranks  where  the  lines  of  smiling 

men 
Marched  as  shadows  away  in  the  wonder  of  dark 

belief. 

The  world  swings  on  in  its  orbit  to  one  predestined 

end, 
Unsullied  in  its  purpose,  howe'er  we  mourn  for 

peace. 

It  is  only  men's  desire  and  doubt  we  have  to  amend, 
When  those  who  have  gone  are  sleeping,  and  those 

who  are  watching  cease. 


40 


ON  A  ROSE 

(Received  in  sick-bed) 

Would  that  the  passion  and  the  power 
Of  beauty  in  this  passing  flower 
Breathe  in  a  living  world  again ! 
Would  that  the  last  tolled  hour  arrive, 
When  only  the  leaf  fall  as  the  tear, 
Till  in  the  Spring  of  gladder  year 
Our  children's  children  bloom  alive, 
And  hearthstones  moan  "Amen." 

Would  that  the  hand  in  hand  of  friends 

Serve  to  the  nations  for  amends 

To  bring  faith  unto  men. 

Ah,  may  we  in  this  shadowed  hour, 

When  souls  are  swept  as  chaff  away, 

And  strong  men  gone  of  yesterday, 

Keep  fragrance  with  this  blood-stained  flower, 

And  murmur  its  "Amen." 

Exquisite  rose,  the  wage  of  sin 

Which  this  poor  planet  labors  in, 

Your  beauty  shall  not  ken. 

Your  dimmed  tracery  near  my  bed, 

Rises  with  her,  the  living  ghost 

Of  some  madonna  in  the  host 

Of  merciful  who  break  God's  bread, 

And  whisper  my  "Amen." 

41 


BLESSE 

He's  got  little  chance 
To  finish  the  dance, 

That  chap  lying  there? 
'Twill  do  him  no  good 
To  waste  all  the  blood ; 

They  got  him  for  fair. 
Watch  that — did  he  gulp? 
Just  a  mass  of  new  pulp. 

Are  you  sure  he's  not  dead? 
Dead?     No — don't  be  sure 
What  the  flesh  shall  endure; 

He'll  come  back  on  the  bed. 

Just  a  history  of  fracture; 
We'll  soon  manufacture 

A  man  from  the  mass; 
For  a  space,  like  as  not; 
Yet  how  long,  and  for  what, 

But  the  hour's  broken  glass? 
To  breathe  or  to  think 
In  the  mind's  life  and  blink, 

Without  limb,  without  sight; 
Be  it  life,  though  it  seem 
'Twere  no  heaven  to  dream 

Without  stars  in  the  night. 
42 


BLESSE 

So  they're  patching  him  up 
That  he  may  lift  the  cup 

Of  life's  wine  again; 
That  he  may  lie  aware, 
In  the  touch  of  the  air, 

Of  the  horror  of  pain ; 
Till  in  some  tired  year 
To  re-vision  the  fear 

As  in  hell-mouth  before, 
The  flesh  on  the  rack, 
The  coin  God  tossed  back, 

Death  tapping  the  door. 


43 


VESTAL 

Friend,  you  shall  let  the  candle  burn 

As  it  always  did  in  the  great  room. 

How  happily  did  we  discern 

Those  weird  suggestions  through  the  gloom, 

Glad  ghosts  to  meet  on  our  return 

From  ghastlier  figures  in  this  tomb. 

For  peace  will  come,  as  evening  dim 
Creeps  soundless  down  the  valley  floor. 
Our  hearts  will  raise  their  vesper  hymn 
When  dusk  comes  weeping  at  the  door, 
And  clouds  sleep  on  the  earth's  grey  rim. 
We'll  talk  of  life  we  lived  before. 

And  where  the  olden  stars  were  lit, 
And  carrion  hawks  flew  down  to  sup 
Upon  the  needless  blood,  or  flit 
About  the  dead  to  lick  it  up, 
Within  the  candle  gloom  we'll  sit 
Once  more  to  lift  the  passionate  cup. 


44 


IN  HIS  NAME 

(December,  1918) 

Where  is  the  day  our  band  set  sail 

Heroic  in  our  glees, 
Hull  down  upon  a  darkling  trail 

Across  cold  leagues  of  seas? 
And  laughed  upon  the  dearer  lot 
We  left  in  yon  fair  garden  spot 

For  graver  destinies? 

Oh,  do  they  still  touch  home,  those  ships, 

And  do  they  know  we  say 
Another  prayer  than  crossed  our  lips 

That  glorious  yesterday? 
Or  is  it  that  we  are  forgot, 
To  live  as  meaner  souls  have  not, 

Forever  and  for  aye? 

"We  go  to  wash  the  Saviour's  feet," 
Those  last  words  to  a  friend ! 

Do  men  betray,  and  God  see  meet, 
Their  purport  to  an  end? 

Or  is  it  that  some  master  mind 

Barters  with  God  in  humankind? 
Or  is  poor  Christ  deceit  ? 

45 


CHORDS    FROM    ALBIREO 

He  sought  to  prove  our  truth  disgrace; 

These  do  as  menials  must ; 
Authority!     Look  on  its  face, 

And  say  if  there  be  lust. 
Disciples  of  the  swineherd  plan, 
Weep  not  the  calvary  of  man, 

Nor  men  that  lived  as  dust! 

Five  seasons  saw  the  moon  careen, 

Dead  light  of  our  desire, 
From  Metz  to  vestured  Limousine, 

And  wane  upon  its  gyre. 
We  builded  till  the  striven  sweat 
Was  cold  upon  our  limbs  and  wet, 

And  souls  died  down  like  fire. 

There  was  a  castle  in  our  dream. 

The  chosen  few  of  men 
Within  a  city  raised  the  scheme 

According  to  his  pen ; 
Yet  emperors  seemed  to  care  no  whit, 
And  so  the  serfs  fulfilled  their  bit, 

And  tore  it  down  again. 

But  lo,  we  raised  it  on  a  hill, 
Through  peril,  toil,  and  pain, 

Patrolled  its  canvas  white  and  still, 
In  sun,  or  wind,  or  rain ; 

Until  some  king  provoked  distress 

With  staring  at  its  usefulness; 
We  razed  it  down  again. 

46 


IN    HIS    NAME 

Where  is  the  day  we  sealed  our  word, 

Our  aims  thrice  sanctified? 
Let  us  not  stand,  dear  Lord,  unheard, 

That  for  our  life  has  died! 
Barren  in  war,  ah,  is  it  peace, 
Or  sterile  prayer  of  our  release, 

Or  for  our  death,  he  lied? 

Oh,  do  they  still  touch  home,  those  ships, 
Their  branded  cargoes  charred; 

Or  bear  the  burden  of  our  lips, 
From  revelation  barred? 

Oh,  vestals  of  our  dim  return, 

Shall  the  warm  intimate  fires  burn, 
To  mend  the  broken  shard! 


47 


IMMORTALITY 

Dear,  should  I  go  blindfolded  to  my  sleep, 
To  set  my  name  upon  the  scroll  of  years, 
Let  not  your  breast  be  restless  with  the  deep 
Dark  lingering  impulse  of  persuasive  tears. 
We  have  not  fed  upon  the  purloined  dreams 
Of  little  mortals  in  their  martyrdom; 
So,  when  the  river  of  the  unknown  streams 
Over  my  inert  sense  you  shall  become 
A  flaming  sculpture  of  the  outlived  past, 
Graven  immortal  in  the  fading  mind; 
Know  only  this,  the  mirrored  form  can  last 
Only  within  the  space  of  humankind. 
Yet,  o'er  the  ashes  still  some  flame  divine 
Burns  as  a  night  watch  o'er  the  form  supine. 


48 


COMRADES 

(From  a  hospital,  France, 

We  played  at  comrades,  you  and  I, 
Chance  made  me  pawn  and  you  the  queen, 
And  we  debated  earnestly 
How  things  that  were  not  might  have  been. 

We  marched  adown  the  gold  paved  way, 
We  held  our  state  in  royal  halls, 
As  though  the  earth's  imperial  sway 
Were  bounded  by  these  naked  walls. 

Till,  ever  in  your  wise  concern, 
My  weakness  served  your  kinder  will 
That  watched  the  fevered  taper  burn, 
And  slaved  to  keep  it  burning  still. 

You  smiled  by  lamplight  at  the  trace 
Of  child-surrender  on  the  deep 
Serenity  of  my  wan  face, 
The  immortality  of  sleep. 

And  once  we  barkened  at  the  rain 
Throughout  the  long  companioned  night, 
Till  dawn  crept  to  the  window  pane, 
And  touched  the  walls  with  timid  light. 

49 


CHORDS    FROM    ALBIREO 

'Tis  strange  the  lot  that  haunts  me  still; 
That  I  should  fail  my  part  despite 
The  power  to  guide  the  flesh  by  will ; 
That  you  should  stand  my  watch  by  night. 

But  hours  of  forfeit  shall  reward 

Who,  by  their  chance,  must  watch  and  wait; 

So  first  within  this  prisoned  ward 

I  touched  your  hand  upon  the  gate. 

If  we  hereafter  may  not  meet, 
You  will  be  strong,  nor  grieve  too  much, 
Knowing  each  faithful  hand  I  greet 
Stirs  with  the  spirit  of  your  touch. 

Just  as  in  petals  of  faded  flowers, 
A  beauty  haunts  there  without  end, 
As  perfume  through  the  wasting  hours, 
The  memory  lingers  of  a  friend. 

In  other  land,  perhaps  you'll  tell 
Some  dearer  friend,  whose  faith  you  try, 
"There's  fragrance  in  old  flowers" — Ah,  well, 
We  played  at  comrades,  you  and  I! 


50 


ZONES 

Far,  far  away ;  and  yet  not  very  far, 
There  still  is  sweetness  in  an  open  land ; 
There  Beauty  lingers  as  the  luminous  star 
Through  a  dark  room.     Ah  once,  we  hand  in  hand 
Watched  the  deep  hours  deepen  in  the  fire, 
The  bright  day  over  with  the  peace  of  night ; 
And  the  close  lips,  the  mystery  of  desire 
Unfolded,  fragile  in  the  embered  light. 
But  here  the  ceaseless  murmur  of  old  men, 
Toiling  the  night  shift  down  a  filthy  alley, 
Burdens  our  sleep,  stings  memory  again 
With  sough  of  trees  along  a  windy  valley. 
And  I  seek  Thee,  alone,  in  wanton  faces, 
Where  the  dumb  crosses  bleach  the  desolate  places. 


BY  A  TUSCAN  RUIN 

A  mad  wind  in  a  black,  gnarled  tree 
Sings  forever  its  old  world  tune; 
Across  a  dead  and  lichened  wall, 
By  fitful  gleamings  of  the  moon, 
The  blind  storm  draws  continual, 
Unconsciously,  its  bitter  rune, 
The  silent  masque  of  history. 

Deep  in  this  nook,  one  new  desire 
Lifts  in  the  heart  of  this  wild  flower, 
Crying  of  worlds  beyond  this  death ; 
Untrammelled  by  this  jaundiced  power, 
Somewhere  new  children  still  draw  breath ; 
Somewhere  throughout  the  tired  hour 
Sweet  faces  gleam  around  a  fire. 


52 


HUMOR 

{Shock-room,   advance  Field   Hospital) 
Aug.  17,  1918. 

If  you  should  hear  I  lay  a  broken  mass, 
Do  not  seek  out  to  find  me  where  I  lie; 
Withdraw  the  cover ;  snap  the  lip-stained  glass ; 
Maturer  councils  have  ordained  we  die. 

Beloved,  turn  your  face  to  whence  you  came. 
For  I  have  seen  the  dead  lad  where  he  lay ; 
And  you  would  never  know  me  for  the  same, 
Nor  I  know  him  in  any  other  way. 

We  love  the  accustomed  form  on  which  we  look. 
The  perfect  vessel  holds  our  full  content, 
But  broken,  only  sterner  lives  shall  brook 
The  ghastlier  limbs,  our  gross  disfigurement. 

Beyond  all  hope,  beyond  all  tangent  sense, 
He  came  to  us.     Our  hands  were  good  as  tied. 
We  were  but  glad  he  held  one  recompense, 
Knowing  he  knew  not  if  he  lived  or  died. 

The  gaped  blue  lips,  that  stirred  perhaps  a  lover's, 
Moveless  were  thick  with  blood-black  sputtering. 
Chance  plays  grotesque  its  dice.     A  night-moth 

hovers 
At  the  wick's  end,  the  last  blind  guttering. 

53 


CHORDS    FROM    ALBIREO 

A  soldier  entered,  scraped  his  feet ;  the  door 
Slammed.     He  did  not  know  we  three  were  there, 
Until  he  tripped,  caught  himself  up,  and  swore. 
The  situation  caught  him  unaware. 

Confusion  made  him  seem  the  more  alive. 
It  was  a  common  thing  to  have  men  die. 
'Twould  take  an  awkward  dogma  to  contrive 
A  grave  face  in  such  paradox,  so  I 

Laughed  quietly  in  the  dawn  that  broached  this 

dying. 

Judge  slowly  lest  you  know  not  what  you  do, 
(With  there  a  woman  by  the  stretcher  crying) 
Saying  which  be  the  holier  of  the  two. 

Beware  fool's  pity  for  what  has  to  be ; 

Laughter's  more  sweet  than  mirth,  when  wisdom 

clears 

The  reason  for  our  soul's  eternity, 
Deeper  than  prayer,  too  terrible  for  tears. 


,54 


MUSIC 

(From  a  hill,  May,  1918} 

A  band  is  playing  down  below  in  the  street, 
Waking  the  dirty  village  from  the  still 

Deathly  vale  where  moon  and  the  hill-shades  meet, 
Fearfully  poignant  under  the  dark  of  the  hill, 

Terribly  sweet,  ay,  and  a  bit  too  sweet. 

Hark,  the  bugle  notes  to  their  startled  wings 
Flutter  unseen,  shiver  along  the  hills, 

Die  in  the  vale ;  now,  the  old  melody  swings 
Time  to  the  weary  heart,  as  sweetness  thrills 

Over  God's  finger-board  and  tautens  the  strings. 

A  dream-girl  came  tonight  from  over  the  sea 
To  sing  the  road  for  dusty  tattered  fellows ; 

God!  for  the  music  that  wanders  eternally! 

Lithe  swift  body,  sweet  of  the  eyes  that  mellows 

Trodden  turf  to  blossoms  of  memory. 

Premonition  of  death  in  darkness  sleeping; 

Then  the  trilled  bugle's  dance  below  the  hill; 
Beyond  the  hill,  the  same  dumb  figures  creeping 

Over  the  land  of  no-man,  watching  still, 
As  that  woman  somewhere  down  the  dusk  weeping. 

55 


CHORDS    FROM    ALBIREO 

Surging,  feeling  out  of  the  numb  of  sleep, 
Miracle  melody  yearning  along  the  hill 

Breaks  as  a  wave — drum  taps — last,  the  deep 
Longing  over  the  night,  the  mind  hears  still 

The  song  foregone,  the  swing  of  the  planets'  reap. 

Will  dreams  fester  when  our  song  is  done? 

We'll  mind  not  that !     A  cloud  is  bringing  rains 
Across  the  moon — all  past  and  present  gone ; 

Yet  the  nimbly  squeak  of  unseen  wagon  trains 
Keeps  with  the  frogs  their  stupid  monotone. 


56 


THEIR  YESTERDAY 

(Apremont,  Sept.  11,  1918} 

When  the  last  effort  has  sufficed 
All  but  man's  image  to  erase, 
And  worshippers  of  Eve  or  Christ 
Leave  but  their  crosses  to  efface. 

O,  it  will  not  be  hard  to  pass 
Where  centuries  are  not  so  long, 
Unmirrored  in  the  broken  glass, 
Still  quick  where  memory  is  strong. 

Only  the  kinder  few  will  note 
A  cross  upon  the  records  where, 
Invisible,  His  swift  hand  wrote 
My  name  in  the  perennial  quair. 

A  few  these  remnants  shall  enfold, 
Official  in  their  decorous  way. 
Forgetting  ere  the  earth  be  old 
They  laid  me  with  their  yesterday. 

Their  yesterday  and  my  tomorrow 
To  wing  and  with  the  meteor  climb 
Whence  stronger  faith  or  pity  borrow 
The  mastery  of  our  sublime ; 

Where  unexpended  sense  shall  quaff 
The  choiring  beauty  of  no  form, 

57 


CHORDS    FROM    ALBIREO 

Or  from  its  peace  ride  as  the  chaff 
Giddy  on  pinnacles  of  storm, 

While  dynasties  of  old  disdain 

Kneel  unto  democratic  hate, 

And  summer  moons  through  veils  of  pain 

Rise  poppy-red  and  passionate, 

They'll  hear  trees  tip-toe  on  the  hill, 
The  winnowing  of  hands  o'erhead, 
And  know  the  elemental  will 
Reaps  on  the  highways  of  the  dead. 

And  something  in  their  sleep  shall  stir; 
Insensate  things  shall  move  and  seem 
Burnished  beneath  His  scimitar; 
And  common  things  become  as  dream. 

You'll  know  when  first  the  amber  star 
Creeps  down  the  intimate  stair  of  night ; 
Oh,  Heart,  still  moves  your  avatar 
From  life  to  death,  from  death  to  light. 

You'll  hear  old  laughter  down  the  gloom 
Of  twilight  hills  when  day  is  done, 
Still  foot-falls  through  the  poppy  bloom; 
When  you  shall  know  that  I  have  gone. 

Gone,  and  the  dust  of  flesh  is  spent, 
And  error  dead,  and  God  but  true; 
Oh,  Heart,  the  dawn  of  that  ascent 
To  all  eternity  with  you! 

58 


FINALE 

(Chaillon:   Nov.  10tht  1918} 

There  is  an  end,  I  knew  it  must  be  so, 

An  end  with  the  dissolving  of  mad  tears, 

When  all  the  blinded  eyes  must  see  anew 

The  olden  ways  adorned  in  ecstasy. 

Oh,  Figure  of  our  long  imprisoned  hours, 

Shall  you  be  waiting,  kindly  as  of  yore, 

Kindly  and  wise  to  long  enduring  hurt 

That  may  not  speak  nor  yet  be  understood, 

When  we  return,  oh,  to  yon  paradise  ? 

And  dim  winds  murmur  down  the  lonesome  valley, 

Hazy  with  summer  noons,  and  western  light ; 

And  music  from  the  throat  of  arbored  birds ; 

And  lazy  hum  of  drowsy  crawling  things 

Warm  with  uncountered  rest;  oh,  above  all, 

The  sullen  beat  of  seas  beyond  the  hill, 

Deep  with  gigantic  distance,  sad  with  faith 

Eternal  and  eternal  as  their  tides ; 

These  and  the  everlasting  shall  we  find, 

Free  limbed  and  these  lips  free  of  false  denials, 

To  flout  the  passionate  gales,  to  whisper  tales 

At  twilight,  sing  and  chatter  with  the  world. 

"Beauty  of  woman,  comrade,  earth  and  sea," 

God,  that  the  mind  should  ever  have  conceived 

Such  benisons  to  make  and  break  in  dreams, 

Dreams  ill-begotten  in  these  far  stark  fields. 

59 


CHORDS    FROM    ALBIREO 

Beauty  of  God,  yea,  it  must  come  again, 

Since  words  we  sought  to  say  for  comrades'  sake 

Were  bartered  by  the  faithless  and  we  lost 

The  little  vestige  of  the  truth  we  were. 

And  those  who  wore  authority  to  scourge, 

And  took  their  pride  to  doubt  our  holy  hours, 

Shall  come  to  knock  upon  the  outer  gate 

To  beg  admittance — glad,  immaculate  Heart, 

It  shall  be  yours  to  resurrect  these  dead, 

With  yours  the  everlasting  constancy ; 

Ever  the  eyes  in  which  you  set  the  fire 

Immortal  from  the  travesty  of  war. 

And  we'll  go  down  the  sweet  familiar  lanes 

Of  eager  faces  as  we  went  before, 

Taking  the  reed  these  lesser  sought  to  break, 

Go  down  old  lanes,  or  by  new  hearth  fires  pipe 

To  weary  children  ditties  of  new  lore. 


60 


1919 


DOLORES 
I 

I  found  you  in  the  eyes  along  old  streets 

Facets  of  the  first  star  one  can't  forget, 

Those  living  dead  whom  one  forever  meets, 

Shadows  of  a  perfection  we  have  met. 

And  it  is  not  luxuriance  I  ask; 

I  slept  in  mire  and  mud,  on  dirty  floors, 

Yet  to  return  unto  this  beggar's  task, 

Continual  knocking  at  the  myriad  doors ; 

You  had  not  spoken  of  it  as  I  went 

Half  certain  in  the  glamour,  nor  cared  much 

How  in  the  last  mad  fury  life  was  spent, 

Only,  you  came  and  I  stirred  at  your  touch, 

And,  at  your  word,  went  down  the  road  alone ; 

But  that  long  since,  and  now  you  too  have  gone. 


63 


II 

Strange  spirit-eyed,  will  you  not  keep  the  sense 
Of  what  we  can  be  from  the  thing  we  are, 
Finding  in  loss  the  constant  recompense, 
Throughout  the  dark  a  still  prevailing  star? 
You,  for  the  faith  in  whom,  these  went  and  died 
In  fields  forgotten,  will  you  hold  at  naught 
The  faithful  remnant  to  be  crucified, 
Choke  the  last  breath  for  which  as  dogs  these  fought? 
As  from  the  fever  of  some  hideous  sleep, 
Like  broken  shadows  of  victorious  night, 
These  bloody  heads  and  hearts  in  memory  creep 
Back  to  the  resurrection  of  your  light ; 
Oh,  Heart,  all  wise;  yours  too  the  fragile  pain, 
To  build  the  fires  for  mastery  again ! 


64 


PHILANDERER 

You  tell  me  I  waste  my  powers, 
Then,  what  will  you  have  done, 

When  the  dim  tolling  hours 
Beat  quickstep  to  our  sun? 

If  the  sand  of  the  running  hours 

Is  filling  the  lower  glass, 
Will  you  count  the  petalled  flowers 

To  tell  the  hours  that  pass  ? 

I  am  the  will  and  the  way, 

Chalice  of  unspent  wine ; 
What  if  another  must  pay 

To  drink  of  what  is  mine? 

Years  to  come  shall  they  think 
To  knock  at  another's  door, 

With  him  unwitting  drink 
Of  me,  as  you  drank  before. 

I  am  the  shade  and  the  light 

Laughter  and  tear  in  their  song, 

Reaping  the  glory  of  right 

Sowed  in  the  knowledge  of  wrong. 

65 


CHORDS    FROM    ALBIREO 

Cry  of  the  world  in  sadness 

Only  an  echo  of  me ; 
Child's  soft  laughter  in  gladness 

My  immortality. 

Heart  of  a  woman  is  song, 
Love  in  the  last  is  right ; 

Yearning  that  knows  no  wrong 
Shall  never  have  seen  the  light. 

Mine  is  but  to  have  striven 
For  gift  of  the  soul  in  seeing 

That  beauty  of  heart  is  given 
Alone  by  virtue  of  being. 


66 


FORGOTTEN  LOVER 

Oh,  what  is  that  stark  tree  out  yonder  doing, 
Doomed  to  outlive  our  days  a  century? 
So,  having  loved  long  since,  eternally 
Irresistible  in  its  futile  wooing? 

They  say  it  is  the  wind  or  anything 

They  do  not  know  about  that  stirs  the  trees, 

A  gale  or  hurricane  or  just  a  breeze, 

A  glimmering  breath  of  what  we  each  call  Spring. 

And  yet  each  year  I  hear  it  said  by  some, 
There  climb  to  deck  new  leaves  upon  the  tree— 
And  in  their  task  move  branches  terribly— 
The  ghosts  of  children  past  and  years  to  come. 

Only  it  must  be  mockery  of  our  Spring 
Lovers  and  loved  departed  thus  to  see, 
Keeping  their  foolish  songs  in  treasury, 
Immortal  and  impossible  to  sing. 

Dumb  limbs  transfigured  in  the  endless  quest; 
You  image  of  youth  dead,  and  so  of  me, 
Laugh!     That  the  myriad  love  shall  endlessly 
Seek  to  embrace  and  never,  never  rest. 


67 


FAITH 

If  all  the  beauty  in  the  world 

Merged  with  the  darkness  there  and  fell 

Clattering  down  the  stair  of  night, 

I'd  laugh  into  the  face  of  Hell, 

And  mock  that  Beauty  seemed  in  flight. 

For  I  should  know,  as  you  would  know 
The  gladness  in  the  face  of  men 
But  facet  and  the  afterglow 
Of  olden  Beauty  come  again; 

And  all  our  laughter  and  our  tears, 
The  blush  upon  the  cheek  that  grows, 
Music  of  immemorial  years, 
Bloom  of  the  immemorial  rose; 

And  darkness  but  the  clouds  that  pass ; 
The  stair  of  night  but  moonbeam  falling; 
Beauty  the  lover  and  his  lass 
Kach  to  the  other  ever  calling. 


68 


FANTASY 

Although  a  guest, 
I  left,  alone,  and  quietly  closed  the  door 

Upon  the  rest. 
I  did  not  care,  nor  thought  to  see  them  more 

Upon  this  quest, 

Thinking  to  greet, 
Beyond  the  decent  hills  and  glad  horizon, 

Down  endless  street, 
The  form  of  dreams  our  waking  ne'er  set  eyes  on, 

Only  to  meet 

Her  I  once  met, 
The  lone  madonna  with  the  eyes  of  pain 

Sweet  with  regret; 
Men  seek  forever,  never  find  again, 

Nor  can  forget. 


69 


UPON  THE  PIPER 

Oh,  elders,  wherefore  have  ye  done? 

Wipe  not  your  bigot  eyes; 
That  this  wan  man  of  red  and  brown 
Turned  his  sweet  face  on  Hanilin  town 
To  pipe  the  blessed  children  down 

The  vale  of  Paradise. 

Still  he  sings  of  the  bitter  sands 

Washed  by  a  restless  sea, 
Of  a  man  of  men  long  years  ago 
And  a  valiant  band  who  loved  him  so 
They  followed  as  he  was  wont  to  go 

By  the  shores  of  Galilee. 

His  flute  was  as  the  northern  winds 

That  flout  the  Norsemen's  ire ; 
He  touched  the  stops  in  nimble  art, 
Playing  each  part  and  counterpart, 
Till  chords  sang  as  a  broken  heart 
With  pain  of  sweet  desire. 

Little  faith,  oh,  little  faith 

Beyond  the  hills  of  doom ! 
Ye  fat  and  lean  who  dance  around 
Till  ye  lie  prostrate  on  the  ground, 
Will  ye  not  hear  the  fluted  sound, 

Aye,  quickening  of  your  tomb? 

70 


UPON    THE    PIPER 

Broken  hearts  and  broken  hearts, 

Know  ye  not  your  desire? 
A  paltry  sacrifice,  to  see 
That  Hamlin  stands  by  Galilee, 
Whose  children's  immortality 
Breathes  a  diviner  fire. 


71 


When  you  are  old  and  I  am  old 
And  embers  of  the  heart  grow  cold, 
Or  lips  unto  my  lips  that  press 
Shall  stir  no  sense  but  holiness 
Of  other  dreams  in  other  hours 
Where  seeds  we  sowed  sprang  brighter  flowers; 
And  from  the  ashes  of  our  fire 
Uprose  new  figures  in  desire ; 
After  the  best  and  worst  we  live, 
We'll  hold  the  single  gift ;  to  give- 
Keep  requiem  with  our  yesterday, 
And  kneel  upon  our  stones  to  pray : 

"Child  of  the  sun,  and  wind,  and  rain, 
Child  of  the  Springtide  come  again, 
Our  gift  be  given  that  you  shall  know, 
Before  the  bud  to  blossom  grow, 
The  sense  of  joys  that  might  have  been 
Renders  the  joy,  that  was,  more  keen ; 
That  men  forever  by  their  creed 
Must  hound  the  phantom  of  their  need, 
Out  of  the  din  and  dirt  of  toil, 
The  traffic  and  the  trade  of  moil, 
Return  to  dream  at  the  day's  end, 
Yet  know  not  in  what  way  to  spend 
The  glitter  that  they  labored  for, 
So  restless  fare  to  seek  the  more ; 
Till,  in  our  broken  age  we  find 

72 


GENERATIONS 

The  veriest  of  humankind 
Ephemerids  of  a  Master  mind; 
And  all  our  grave  philosophy 
Man's  measure  of  God's  destiny ; 
And  Truth  but  the  unspoken  word 
Determined  ere  the  first  seed  stirred; 
He,  above  all,  will  understand 
The  two  He  fondles  in  His  hand, 
And  we,  these  two,  before  His  face 
Dare  venture  to  our  own  disgrace 
That  lips  express  a  better  way 
Of  things,  too  beautiful  to  say. 
Child  of  the  sun,  or  wind,  or  rain, 
Child  of  that  beauty  born  of  pain, 
Yours  be  our  immortality, 
Our  gift  your  vision  that  you  see 
To  laugh  on  age,  nor  be  afraid 
At  passion  as  a  tune  outplayed." 

What  though  your  forehead  graven  grow, 

I  shall  still  watch  the  afterglow 

Of  the  eternal  virgin  star, 

Knowing  the  purest  light  we  are 

In  strength  of  laughter  at  our  grief, 

In  mockery  of  diverse  belief, 

But  shadow  of  some  gleam  afar. 


73 


LITTLE  FEET 

Little  feet,  little  feet 
Roaming  on  the  star-lit  street, 

Benison  of  God,  your  faith 
In  your  moon-begotten  wraith, 

Centuries  and  centuries 
Roll  beneath  your  destinies, 

Destinies  you  never  know 
Till  the  lilies  crimson  blow. 

Do  you  ever  dream  before 
You  tap  and  enter  at  the  door, 

Of  the  sadly  grosser  things 
That  shatter  men's  imaginings? 

Still  the  little  voices  rise; 
Out  of  the  city  chaos,  cries. 
Hunger,  and  thirst  in  silence  dies, 
Spawn  of  the  gloried  infamies. 
And  so  you  say  it  must  go  on 

Ah,  well,  my  son, 
Ask  of  some  wiser  master  of  the  law 

What  Sparta  saw 
Her  citadels  of  fibre  hung  upon. 

And  then  return ; 
Tell  me  the  one  privilege  we  hold 

By  magic  paramount, 
Is  live  and  love  and  laugh  and  drink  and  sing, 

And  then  waste-weary  just  forget  the  thing, 
But  leave  to  future  debtors  full  account 

7.4 


LITTLE   FEET 

Of  which  they  know  not,  nor  can  pay 
But  as  inheritors  of  yesterday, 

Today's  eternal  failures  manifold. 

And  then  return, 
Tell  me  the  wage  and  way  of  humankind 

Is  always  such ; 
And  no  one  will  care  much 

For  miracles  and  others, 
But  will  live  swiftly  and  then  leave  behind 
Their  debt  to  earth's  new  brothers. 

You  think  we  live  and  die 
In  our  own  pleasant  infamy? 

There  are  no  others 
Foreseeing  the  joy  of  kind? 

Poor  fool,  I  say  you  lie ; 
You'll  see — but,  never  mind. 

Little  feet,  little  feet, 
Running  down  the  star-lit  street; 

Perfection  but  to  make  your  dream 
The  verity  that  it  should  seem ; 

Drowsy  heads  around  the  fire, 
Drowsy  lips  that  sing  desire ; 

Wait  till  we  prepare  to  bless 
Your  miracle  of  holiness. 

Prescience  of  you  far  away, 
With  you  will  be  yesterday ; 

Little  feet,  little  feet, 
'Twill  be  different  when  we  meet. 


75 


BREATH 

As  I  lie  in  the  grass 
Beneath  the  summer  sky, 
Watching  the  clouds  that  pass, 
I  wonder  what  hope,  if  I 

Suddenly  vanish  away? 
If  what  men  took  me  for, 
Except  as  the  light  of  day, 
Came  among  friends  no  more? 

Still  I  would  come  and  go, 
The  breath  of  what  was  I, 
Play  with  the  to  and  fro, 
And  hover  quite  tranquilly 

Over  the  grass  and  flowers 
Where  I  had  lain  before, 
Days  and  years  and  hours 
Nothing  but  evermore. 


76 


BY  THE  SEA 


BEATA  DIE 

Within  the  first  beginning, 

Transfiguring  belief, 
Impossible  of  sinning, 

Incredible  of  grief, 
The  perfect  God  who  bore  you 

In  pain  that  makes  aright, 
In  perfect  vision  saw  you, 

To  fashion  you  of  light; 
Chose  from  the  purest  leaven 

The  seed  whence  you  are  made, 
To  blossom  in  man's  heaven, 

Exquisitely  portrayed. 

Light  in  the  deep  affliction, 

Finding  all  gladness  good, 
Worst  in  the  Crucifixion 

The  best  they  understood; 
One  above  many  mortals, 

Now  come  you  in  His  name 
White  flame  against  our  portals 

As  once  of  old  He  came ; 
Proud  in  the  youth  of  yearning, 

Queen  of  your  infinite  task, 
Courage  of  fearful  learning, 

Mother  of  all  we  ask. 

Not  for  your  utter  measure, 
Nor  that  which  you  are  not, 

79 


CHORDS    FROM    ALBIREO 

Not  for  the  pain  of  pleasure, 

Which  may  not  be  forgot ; 
Nor  lips  that  might  have  spoken 

Of  beauty  after  pain ; 
Not  for  the  shard  that  broken 

Shall  never  mend  again ; 
But  dreams  of  truth  that  flourish 

Reborn,  we  kneel  today; 
The  flowers  men  shall  nourish 

In  Gethsemane  for  aye. 

Over  the  sunlit  pages 

Another  hour  has  tolled; 
We  gather  the  hopes  of  ages 

Into  the  evening  fold 
For  brighter  dawns  tomorrow, 

Beautiful  as  you  go 
In  raiment  that  we  borrow 

To  hide  the  tears  that  flow; 
Taking  strength  of  your  trial, 

Safe  through  the  flood  and  fire, 
Courage  from  your  denial, 

Cool  in  the  deep  desire. 

A  down  the  way  unending, 
Through  gardens  understood, 

As  twilight  lilies  bending 
Deepen  in  motherhood; 

And  who  shall  watch,  nor  dreaming, 
The  tremor  of  your  lips, 

Sacred  beyond  all  seeming, 

80 


BEATA  DIE 

Nor  feel  the  heart's  eclipse, 
In  little  hands  that  reaching 

Span  the  mysterious  years, 
Or  little  lips  beseeching 

Between  their  doubts  and  fears. 

You  in  the  wine  life  christens, 

Wine  that  was  blood  before, 
Is  it  the  deep  heart  listens 

Where  the  great  gods  implore? 
'Ware  lest  the  little  scorners 

Lead  you  within  their  past ; 
Watch  lest  pity  give  mourners 

A  soul  for  their  pennies  cast; 
Child  of  our  infinite  being, 

Shall  it  be  yea  or  nay ; 
Beauty  beyond  all  seeing, 

Love  beyond  all  men  say ! 

You  shall  uplift  their  banner ; 

Falter  it  not,  nor  sway, 
Knowing  in  your  own  manner 

The  earth's  more  common  way, 
After  you  legions  surging, 

Faces  uplift  to  the  sky, 
Out  of  the  years  emerging 

Glad  in  your  name  to  die; 
Beware,  not  swift  to  render 

Yours,  as  a  thing  too  dear ; 
Beauty  ordains  in  splendour 

Love  in  its  intimate  fear. 

81 


CHORDS   FROM    ALBIREO 

What  time  the  pagans  started, 

We  bore  indeed  your  lance, 
And  went  as  broken-hearted 

To  play  at  death  with  France ; 
Returned  again  in  wonder 

To  olden  shores  at  last, 
Here  in  the  twilight  ponder 

Upon  the  darkling  past ; 
Ponder  and  ask  if  ever 

Dawn  from  our  darkness  rise ; 
Is  it  the  years  can  sever 

Hell  from  our  Paradise? 

Lo,  through  the  devious  ranging 

Still  flares  the  former  light, 
The  way  and  will  unchanging, 

Still  weary  after  flight, 
But,  oh,  through  fearful  winding 

Through  death  for  what  it  bought, 
The  glory  of  the  finding 

The  heart  forever  sought ! 
The  face  we  first  set  eyes  on, 

For  which,  in  peace,  it  seems 
We  sit  behind  horizon 

To  play  at  life  with  dreams ! 

So  is  it  willed,  Madonna, 

You  for  the  soul  you  are ; 
Man  with  his  way  in  honor ; 

The  child  with  his  vagrant  star. 
Whatever,  as  men,  we  name  you, 

82 


BEATA   DIE 

Year  unto  dying  year, 
However  dust  may  claim  you, 

Vision  shall  persevere. 
However  the  present  perish, 

As  ever  realities  do, 
Children  to  be  shall  cherish 

Truth  as  a  part  of  you. 

You  in  the  thing  you  make  it, 

Eternal  or  not  to  be ; 
Beauty  for  what  you  take  it 

As  life  in  its  entity ; 
Heart  of  the  purer  passion ; 

Eyes  of  the  kindlier  rest ; 
Love  in  its  dearer  fashion ; 

Peace  in  the  myriad  quest, 
Worship  we  unto  the  last, 

Poor  as  our  dumb  lips  pray ; 
Future  and  present  and  past, 

Distilled  in  the  one  today. 

September  19th. 


83 


Through  the  myriad  hopes  and  failures,  vagrant  of 

a  common  earth, 
Do  you  ask  the  song  that  led  me  to  the  heart  of 

Arcady, 
To  the  glory  out  of  sadness,  sorrow  that  betrays  our 

mirth, 
Lady  of  the  wind  and  stars  and  all  unspoken  things 

to  me? 

Would  these  know  the  pain  that  swept  me  as  I've 

watched  the  faintest  gesture 
Hiding  all  your  heart  sang  with  the  sea  along  its 

coral  bars? 
Watched  the  twilight  raiment  fall  across  the  wonder 

of  your  vesture, 
Woven  of  star-revery  that  dreams  bring  nearer 

than  the  stars? 

Through  the  lone  recessionals  of  time  the  song  of 

songs  is  one, 
One  immortal  thing  the  winds  have  whispered  in 

the  years  between, 
Saying  lips  of  courage  cease  not  once  the  symphony 

begun; 
Men  are  naught  in  the  eternal;    faith  is  what  we 

have  not  seen ! 

Though  I  gather  from  the  sheaves  the  songs  men 
ever  sang  before, 

84 


MINOR  DOMINANTS 

Rises  still  against  their  voices  but  the  one  and  living 

theme, 
That  I  found  the  old  sea  singing,  feeling  round  its 

myriad  shore, 
Beating  as  a  lost  heart  keeping  harmony  with  its 

one  dream. 

I  have  hidden  in  the  darkness,  but  through  darkness 

silence  strays, 
All  the  silence  that  but  echoes  dreams  that  are  not, 

yet  may  be, 
Sets  the  weary  heart  to  singing  the  old  song  that 

ever  says 
All  the  dearer  things  unspoken  that  you  ever  meant 

to  me. 

What  of  all  the  nearer  sweetness  if  it  linger  on  in 
pain; 

What  of  all  the  songs  of  laughter  if  thereafter  cry 
ing  brings 

Drifting  down  the  purple  pinewoods  as  a  melody 
again, 

Haunts  a  hallowed  place  deserted  where  the  lone 
earth-mother  sings. 

Is  it  but  the  fever  vision  of  a  heart  weak  after  fight, 
Pale  as  dead  desire  that  wakens  to  its  immortality; 
Worship  of  a  dog  whose  eyes  by  some  old  faith  are 

kept  alight, 
Knowing  not  the  sail  shall  never  lift  against  the  sky 

at  sea? 

85 


CHORDS    FROM    ALBIREO 

As  a  treasury  of  Eden,  will  you  in  the  dusk  re 
member 

The  one  flower  of  his  garden,  radiant  in  its  place 
alone ; 

Shall  it  gleam  upon  another's  hearth  as  fire  gone  to 
ember, 

When  I  pass  the  lighted  inns  along  the  starlit  high 
ways  gone? 


86 


STAR 

Out  of  the  night, 

Out  of  the  pall  of  mist 

Gradual  and  half  timidly  you  came, 

As  variant  amethyst 

Slowly  refulgent  in  its  myriad  light 

Orbs  into  being;   the  face  that  has  no  name, 

The  strange  lips  smiling  scarlet  as  a  wound, 

Tears  brimming  the  grey  eyes, 

And  essence  of  wind's  tremor  in  your  hair ; 

From  somewhere  music  flows,  yet  without  sound, 

As  the  continual  urge  that  underlies 

Some  lost  fulfilment  that  we  did  not  dare. 

And,  lo,  you  fade 

While  moments  of  the  self  rise  to  deceive 

And  stand  between 

The  eyes  and  what  they  saw, 

As  flesh  will  intervene 

Betwixt  our  purpose  and  what  we  achieve, 

Yet  would  adore. 

But,  lo,  again  you  rise 

Like  the  dim  aria  of  all  constant  prayer, 

And  in  your  eyes 

Shadow  of  this  infinite  Truth  you  are, 

Translucent  star 

Of  Somebody  that  sings  and  breathes  elsewhere. 


87 


VISION 

Once  I  went  out  alone  to  play  a  game, 
And  met  two  others  playing  on  the  sward ; 
And  something  sang  within  me  with  no  name, 
Like  as  a  purpose  planets  venture  toward. 
We  spoke  not,  yet  I  knew  upon  some  hearth 
A  fire  was  lit  more  bright  than  myriad's  love, 
And  felt  at  point  with  victory  come  on  earth 
After  the  weary  dark  we  speak  not  of, 
Through  sleeplessness  of  woundings,  God  knows 

not 

What  misery — then  suddenly  success, 
A  vast  and  sweet  clean  earth,  all  else  forgot, 
But  this  one  star  united  out  of  stress: 
The  flowers  grew  bright,  and  meaning  flushed  the 

stone ; 
Somebody  touched  me  where  I  went  alone. 


88 


POSSESSION 

I've  heard  it  said  there  is  beyond  the  scope 
Of  solar  limits  and  the  lunar  span 
Some  region  fashioned  in  the  light  of  hope, 
A  garden  that  the  Master  laid  for  man. 
And  there  we  find  this  phantom  thing  we  seek, 
Fearing,  against  ourselves,  its  holiness; 
We  that  were  dumb  as  mortals  learn  to  speak, 
And  come  at  last  this  Beauty  to  possess ; 
And  shall  forget  the  little  hours  on  earth, 
Bewildered  with  extraordinary  pain, 
Knowing  this  revelation  the  last  birth, 
With  death  gone  by  nor  to  return  again; 
Finding  the  all  we  lost  to  make  amend 
For  perseverance  to  each  futile  end ! 


89 


TRINITY 

I  saw  three  ships  loom  dark  against  the  West, 
In  silent  splendor  'cross  the  opal  har 
Like  dreams,  as  growing  dark  made  manifest 
Above  each  masthead  one  lone  singing  star. 

And  from  the  first  a  slim,  pale  woman  stepped 
In  colored  raiment;   looked  back  tenderly 
Upon  the  others  while  the  one  hand  kept 
A  curious  jewel  bright  like  memory. 

And  from  the  next  a  youth  of  tawny  frame 
Leapt  as  a  fawn,  his  stature  'gainst  the  sea 
In  sinewed  splendor  glimmered  like  a  flame; 
There  the  two  waited  on  their  treasury. 

Until  arose  from  the  third  ship  a  sound 
Of  younger  laughter  and  of  little  feet 
Running  adown  the  shore  and  all  around 
Like  ripples  on  the  twilight  sands  that  beat. 

But  there  the  coast-guard  stood  where  they  would 

go, 

And  laughed  into  their  faces,  and  his  hand 
Lifted  against  the  last  ship.     He  growled,  "No! 
This  is  no  port  for  our  souls'  contraband." 

90 


TRINITY 

Thereat  the  woman  lifted  up  her  eyes 
And  seemed  to  speak  though  her  lips  never  stirred ; 
And  he  was  troubled  with  blind  mysteries, 
And  in  his  deafness  trembled  that  he  heard. 

While  the  youth  stood  agleam,  alert  for  fight, 
Then  straightened  by  her  in  disdain  of  harm ; 
And  through  the  dusk  there  stole  upon  them  light, 
And  strength  stood  forth  like  shadow  on  his  arm. 


And  I  ran  down  to  see,  and  there  like  dead 
The  shoreman  lay,  face  down  and  very  still ; 
The  stars  were  gone  that  lighted  each  masthead — 
But  there  was  laughter  running  on  the  Hill. 


91 


NE- 

Will  you  forget  the  first  and  deep  inthrong 
Of  moon  that  crowned  the  darkness  of  the  height, 
When  all  you  said  fell  as  an  olden  song, 
In  contradiction  making  the  darkness  bright? 
Will  you  forget,  now  all  is  said  and  done, 
Eternities  that  held  you  when  you  came ; 
Forget  the  light  because  the  star  is  gone; 
Let  perfect  cause  make  consequence  the  blame? 
Your  petals  sudden  fall  and  leaves  turn  sere 
Where  in  a  day  the  flower  raised  its  head, 
Knowing  the  same  flower  shall  year  after  year 
Sing  the  same  song  long  after  we  are  dead? 
And,  though  you  close  the  Garden  where  you  met 
The  dream  our  souls  forego,  would  you  forget? 


92 


PLUS- 

So  love  went  down  a  black  road  in  the  wood, 
Filled  with  the  far  dim  longing  of  the  sea, 
For  that  she  sought  her  self,  half  understood, 
Where  the  wind  moved  like  rain  mysteriously. 
The  stars  were  flung  as  dust  in  the  tree-tops ; 
There  Merlin  touched  his  fingers  to  the  lyre, 
And  old  time  passed  as  life  when  the  heart  stops. 
His  voice  shed  beauty  as  a  lost  desire 
Over  the  fallen  head,  the  sweet  face  white 
Even  in  darkness;  never  the  red  lips  stirred, 
But  that  fear  rose  like  shadow  of  her  light ; 
Love  started  up  unknowing  what  she  heard, 
Went  as  a  dream  with  raised  and  ghostly  hand 
Groping  to  man's  earth  out  of  Fairyland. 


93 


ULTRA 

And  Love  spoke  woman-wise  unto  the  Man, 
Warping  the  heart  threads  in  the  woof  of  mind ; 
"Being  born  thus,  I  live  for  what  I  ean, 
Predestined  servant  to  your  humankind, 
Having  endured  in  dream  my  thrice  childhood ; 
What  though  they  perish  in  the  first  assault, 
I  severed  gladness  from  me  for  their  good, 
I  hid  my  dream  lest  they  interpret  fault!" 
Then  Merlin—  "If  you  die,  why  shall  they  live? 
You  play  with  flowers  nor  see  what  lies  behind. 
Crucify  self,  and  what  remains  to  give? 
How  may  these  see  by  you  when  you  go  blind?" 
And  Merlin  turned  to  Fairyland  again, 
And  Love  cried  after  beauty  in  her  pain. 


DESTINY 

She  had  a  laughter  one  would  not  forget, 
Like  wind  in  trees  or  far  along  a  sea, 

Such  as  strong  men  go  seeking  after,  glad 
With  hope  and  prayer  of  some  old  memory 

Mulled  in  the  sweet  of  dreaming  what  men  had 
And  heard  in  Dante's  day,  and  die  for  yet. 

Playing  one  day,  another  player  she  met, 

Who  took  and  struck  new  chords  upon  the  lute 

Of  strange  desire  and  magic  round  the  child 
For  one  brief  song.     The  silence  was  more  mute 

Than  all  past  glory  might  have  reconciled, 
Except  the  laughter  men  would  not  forget. 

There  was  another,  God's  will,  like  as  not, 
Proximity  enshrined,  as  birth  crowns  kings, 

For  whom  she  gave  her  laughter  and  her  own, 
For  whom  she  waited  in  all  little  things, 

All  else  foregone.     And  when  the  two  were  grown 
They  were  as  one,  and,  like  as  one,  forgot. 


95 


TOKEN 

The  shears  of  eve  are  swift;  the  gold  curl  tumbles, 
Gift  of  the  West  to  East,  a  delicate  fallen  lock 
To  bring  me  rest  from  riot,  and  quiet  the  heart's 

knock 
And  labor  ever  searching  the  dust  that  round  it 

crumbles. 

For  what  alone  we  take  it,  a  rare  gift  given, 

Say  not  that  he  once  lived;    better,  his  pen  once 

wrote 

Not  of  the  object  given,  but  glad  our  gifts  connote 
Something  of  us  that  shall  not  in  life  or  death  be 

riven. 

Severed  from  the  mortal,  still  immortal  growing, 
The  mortal  fact  may  follow  its  cycle  unto  dust ; 
Still  truth  of  it  immortal  remains  unseen  in  trust, 
In  thanks  for  what  is  given  beyond  the  word's  be 
stowing. 

What  if  this  must  be  the  last  leave-taking, 

Or  if  the  desert  silence  or  sea  leagues  lie  between, 

Let  us  say  hands  we  touched,  loved  faces  we  have 

seen 
Are  trinkets  of  faith's  memory  beyond  all  breaking. 


96 


SONG  OF  SONGS 

A  stroller  passed  one  day  who  sang  a  song, 
One  melody  of  all  life's  notes  that  mattered, 

Notes  from  the  leaves  we  lingered  on  too  long, 
That  in  the  hours  between  he  had  found  scattered ; 

Notes  of  still  streams  that  under  striving  run, 
Of  findings  that  throughout  all  quest  we  keep ; 

The  sense  of  two  hands  given  for  the  one; 

A  kiss  upon  some  forehead  that  brought  sleep. 

One  song  he  sang,  a  stranger  without  name, 

Of  radiance  whence  from  time  to  time  we  borrow ; 

The  stars  drew  down  to  listen  where  he  came ; 
Time  was  a  myth  long  since  endowed  by  sorrow. 


97 


LILIES  RED 

(Upon  a  Northern  shore} 

Where  fields  are  bitter  silence  save 
The  trickle  of  the  stormy  mist, 

Or  white-lipped  rancor  of  the  wave 
Against  its  shore ;  where  winds  persist 
In  whimper  round  their  grave ; 

Our  lilies  fling  a  patch  of  red 

At  random  mid  the  brake  and  weed, 

They  seem  to  raise  each  one  its  head 
In  scorn  like  heroes  yet  that  bleed, 
Or  souls  among  the  dead. 

God's  glorious  remnant  outward  bound 

In  search  of  their  eternity, 
I  see  them  as  re-opened  wound 

Sharp  on  the  darkness  of  the  sky, 

Or  vivid  like  a  sound. 

My  face  is  cold  and  blind  with  rain, 
The  wind  will  find  no  respite,  yet 

These  flame  as  old  songs  come  again, 
Like  scarlet  dreams  we  would  forget, 
Blood  startled  in  the  vein. 

98 


LILIES   BED 

I  think  there  is  a  hope  that  lies 

Beneath  this  barren  shore  outleant, 

Some  respite  for  the  heart  that  cries 

Through  lonely  hours  of  searching  spent 
With  its  eternities. 

This  flame  against  the  sky  I  see 
The  blossom  of  a  perfect  seed, 

These  flowers  limned  against  the  sea 
Whereby  our  Northern  lilies  bleed, 
Sown  in  Gethsemane. 


99 


TO  W.  R.  W. 

The  last  toast  is  taken, 
Closed  Loch  Erin's  door, 
Summer  petals  shaken 
Along  September's  shore. 

Gathered  threads  are  broken, 
The  old  loom  is  still. 
Winter  gives  no  token 
Of  us  on  the  Hill, 

Hill  we  once  ascended 
In  the  key  of  blue. 
Summer  trails  are  ended, 
Not  so  mine  with  you. 

Though  one  Hill  be  breathless, 
Stark  on  Winter's  sky, 
We  with  Spring  are  deathless, 
Climbing,  you  and  I. 


100 


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